


Make A Wish

by AcrobatElle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut, Speculation fic for S6B, Spoilers for 6x12 in the final chapter, possible minor spoilers, though it'll definitely get Jossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrobatElle/pseuds/AcrobatElle
Summary: Stuck in the Enchanted Forest after her wish was granted, Emma seeks out Killian. She doesn't expect what she finds. [Speculation and possibly minor spoilers for 6B. Canon divergence from 6x11 on.]





	1. Chapter 1

Emma can’t stop her smirk when the tracking spell leads her to a tavern. _Of course_.

She wasn’t sure if it would work at all, whether he’d even _be_ in this version of the Enchanted Forest. The _Jolly_ was nowhere to be found at the docks and none of the local sailors knew anyone by the name of Killian Jones or Captain Hook. He could have been long dead, or still in Neverland, or an _actual_ blacksmith for all she knew, but the simple spell using Liam’s ring led her straight here. She pulls the hood of her cloak more tightly over her head - escaping the palace guards was easy enough, and she damn well wasn’t going to do this with an audience - and approaches, her boots barely kicking up dust on the well-worn path.  

It’s a bit out-of-the-way, this little place, and her smirk falls when she realizes just how far it is from the docks… or, come to think of it, any water at all. She pauses just outside the door. Killian - _her_ Killian - would know where to find a magic bean, but whatever version of him she’s about to meet might not. He’s likely not even a sailor, much less a pirate. But -

But. She has to try. She’s not deluded enough to convince herself it’s the only reason she wants to find him. In real-world terms it’s only been a day since she’s seen him, but now with yet another lifetime’s worth of memories in her head, she’s left with the near-physical ache of three decades without his presence. More than anything she just - she needs to see him.

And, if she’s honest with herself, part of her wants to watch him fall in love with her again.

It’s that final thought that allows her to enter the tavern and look around.

There’s a decent number of patrons, but nothing like the rowdy crowd of pirates and barmaids she’d seen when she met his past self. The place is quiet, every bit as subdued as the soft lantern light casting shadows in every corner. It’s not an establishment for wayward miscreants, more like a local pub where working men come for a few pints at the end of a long day. She tugs at her hood again, trying to keep her face out of view, but it’s unnecessary - no one so much as looks up at her entrance.

That’s when she spots him.

She shouldn’t be surprised at his appearance, given the way her parents had looked ( _they’re fine, they’re back home and_ alive _, they’re fine, they’re fine_ the constant mantra in her head), but the breath flies out of her as she strains to get a good look at him. He’s hardly elderly but definitely older by a few decades, his hair still thick but generously shot through with streaks of silver. The laugh lines she loves so much have deepened, the start of a few wrinkles on his forehead, and there’s a new scar along the side of his jaw. He’s beautiful. Older and more distinguished but still breathtakingly handsome, his profile unchanged by the additional years on his face.

The wash of sweet relief she feels at seeing him recedes when she takes in the set of his shoulders, slumped and still in a way he never looks. Hiis only company at the tiny table tucked in the corner is a bottle of rum and a half-empty glass. The years may not have changed his look much but they’ve drastically altered his posture. He keeps his gaze fixed on his drink, not his surroundings, the only part of him that moves his fingers, slowly turning the glass where it sits on the table.

His weariness is palpable. It, just like everything else - his older face, the solitude rather than a lively game of dice, the lack of the leather coat, hell, the lack of a bar wench on his arm or in his lap - is all slightly _off_ , somehow. Emma knows she’s staring but if he realizes he’s being watched, he doesn’t look up.

She can’t sit near him and flirtily catch his eye, not when her face is known to everyone in the realm. Even if she had the blessing of anonymity she suspects he wouldn’t take much heed, and that bothers her most of all.

A direct approach will have to do.

He still doesn’t lift his head even when she takes the seat directly across from him. “Mind if I join you?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company, lass.” Even his voice is tired, lower and with more gravel than she remembers.

“And what makes you say that, Captain?”

That gets his attention. He raises his eyes but her face is still mostly in shadow from her hood. “Because I’m not in the habit of consorting with people who call me that.”

“Call you what, ‘Captain’? It’s true, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrow, and her heart sinks at his expression. “Not for a long time. How do you know that?”

God, what has he been doing the last 25 years? “I know a lot of things, Killian,” she replies, her voice soft and placating.

It has the opposite effect. At the sound of his name he grabs the bottle and moves to leave, but her hand shoots out, grabbing at his wrist. “Wait! Please.”

“Why should I?” he asks, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

She releases him and pulls back her hood, holding her breath as he takes in her face. Whatever she was hoping to see - the lovestruck deckhand, a lecherous pirate, a light in his eyes, _anything_ \- she gets none of it. His eyes widen a touch when he realizes he’s speaking to a princess, but he otherwise doesn’t give anything away.

“Please. Sit,” she asks again.

He recovers quickly. “Is that a request or a royal fiat?”

She smiles, but the expression feels awkward on her face. “To be honest, I’ll do pretty much anything to keep you here. But it’s a request.”

He sits, regarding her warily. “What are you doing here, Princess? Shouldn’t you be in mourning?”

Word travels fast in the Enchanted Forest, it seems. “My parents aren’t dead.”

“I’ve heard differently.”

“You’ve heard wrong.” She sighs. “It’s a long story.”

“Then did you bring your guards with you? Come to arrest me, finally?” he asks tiredly. “I can’t imagine why anyone would care enough to bother detaining an old pirate like me. Or why they’d send you to find me in the first place.”

“If I had, would you try to escape?”

He simply shrugs, pouring himself another glass.

His entire demeanor throws her for a loop - he is everything and nothing like the man she knows. The same sadness that always haunts him is there, but the utter lack of fight in him disarms her. “Why would I want to arrest you?” she tries.

The ghost of a familiar smirk crosses his face. “I thought you knew many things.”

“Humor me.”

He leans back in his chair. “I was banished from your kingdom a few decades ago. I assumed you knew, but you were just a child when it happened, I suppose.”

“Why?”

His eyebrow shoots up, another familiar gesture and she latches onto it. “Is this to be an interrogation, Highness?”

“Emma,” she says, unthinking.

“What?”

“Call me Emma.”

He blinks, taken aback for the first time. “Is this to be an interrogation, _Emma_?”

Her heart clenches at the sound of her name from his lips. It sounds exactly as she remembered. “No. We can just… talk.”

He eyes her curiously. “You grow more confusing by the minute, Princess.”

She bites her cheek when he reverts back to her title. “How’s that?”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

_I missed you_. “I, uh, was hoping to find someone who would be able to locate a magic bean. I thought you would fit the bill, but it seems like my information is a little out-of-date.”

His laugh is caustic, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Quite.”

“What _happened_ to you?”

He grows quiet and drains his drink, pouring himself another. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer if you went on your way and found someone else for your mission. Leave me in peace.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“At peace.”

Killian’s face doesn’t quite fall at her question. No, it’s far more subtle than that. But she can see how his eyes darken ever so slightly, not just at the query but the fact that she so swiftly called him out. Being read so easily isn’t pleasant - she knows well enough, him having it done it to her so many times - but she holds his gaze while he looks at her and doesn’t budge as he stares, long past the point of polite or comfortable.

She waits for a scathing remark, but he finally sighs and slouches back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his face. “And why do you even care, Highness?” Everything about him radiates exhaustion.

And that cuts deeper than anything, how tired and hopeless he seems. It’s silly, she knows. This Killian isn’t real, not really. _None_ of this is real. She should have turned away the moment he said he couldn’t help her, but she can’t quell the urge to reach out and take his hand, to touch his face, God, anything, just _something_ for him to hang onto. Her hands itch to reach out to him; she clenches them tightly in her lap instead.

She’s loved every version of Killian Jones she’s ever met. The one sitting before her is no exception.

“Does that surprise you?” she asks, careful to keep the waver out of her voice. “That I care? Or that anyone would?”

“Is there a difference?” He’s so quiet, apparently astonished that he’s even having this conversation. Emma reminds herself that this must be even more baffling for him than it is for her, a royal talking to a former pirate like he’s a long-lost friend.

She allows a small smile. “Maybe.”

Before he can respond, one of the barmaids approaches. “Can I get you anything, miss - oh! I, um… Your Highness?” The poor girl is stunned when she realizes she’s speaking to royalty, her face flushing and her mouth dropping open.

“It’s okay,” Emma assures her, pulling out a pouch of gold coins (access to the Royal Treasury does have its perks) and handing it to her. The girl takes it, flummoxed, weighing it in her hands. It’s probably more than she earns in a year. “For your silence.” The girl nods, still dumbfounded. “Do you serve food here?”

“I, uh - yes, Your Highness. Lamb stew and bread. I can - “

Emma looks to Killian. “Have you eaten?” She already knows the answer.

“No. And I’m not hungry.”

“You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach, Killian.”

He raises an eyebrow, whether at her cheek or her use of his name, but it’s the first time he’s truly challenged her since she sat down. She takes it as a win, and pushes back.

She looks again to the barmaid. “Dinner for both of us. And a glass for me.” She motions to the bottle of rum between them.

“My rum’s already bought and paid for.”

The message is clear - _this is mine and I won’t be sharing_ \-  but Emma won’t back down. “A glass, and a bottle for me, then. Thank you.”

It takes a moment for the girl to realize she’s been dismissed before she’s off in a tizzy, and Emma smiles after her for a moment before adjusting the tilt of her chair just enough that her face won’t be visible to the other patrons in the tavern. Her amusement dies when she looks back at Killian. His disgust is palpable.

“I don’t need your pity, Highness.”

She stiffens in her seat. “This isn’t pity.”

“Isn’t it?” He keeps his voice low but his tone is deadly. “Throwing money at that girl? Acting as though you give a damn about a strange man that your own parents banished from their kingdom, like that will convince me to help you? Rest assured, _Princess_ , I’ve no resources or assistance for you no matter how kind you pretend to be. I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to.”

She closes her eyes and forces herself to take a deep breath. “You don’t trust royalty. Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Few pirates do.”

“I thought you weren’t a pirate anymore.”

“Semantics, love.”

Emma’s lips quirk up at the familiar endearment, sarcastic as it is. The maid returns quickly with a bottle and glass for her, and Emma wastes no time pouring herself a shot and downing it. If Killian’s surprised at her ability to chug liquor he doesn’t show it, merely tosses back one of his own. It’s alarming how much he’s already drunk since she sat down, but even more so that the alcohol doesn’t seem to be affecting him at all yet. She’s certain he plans on finishing the bottle himself.

He sighs as he sets down the glass. “I tire of this. I’ve told you I can’t help you, yet you seem desperate to keep me here. And you keep looking at me like - “ he stalls, as though what he wants to say is the most baffling thing of all.

“Like what?”

“Like you _know_ me.”

She shrugs. “Like I said, I know more than you think.”

He scoffs. “All you’ve done is talk in circles. Give me one good reason not to walk out that door right now.”

“I know why you became a pirate.” Emma hadn’t wanted to tip her hand so early, but their entire conversation so far has gone so disastrously wrong she can’t possibly make things any worse. A renewed wave of sympathy for him runs through her, at how hopeless he must have felt trying to convince her of her true identity back in New York.

He stiffens in his chair. “Oh?”

“You used to be a naval officer. Your king sent you on a mission to Neverland for Dreamshade, and it ended up killing your brother.”

His eyes grow wider the longer she speaks. “How do you know that?” he barely gets out.

“You took the _Jewel of the Realm_ and renamed her the _Jolly Roger_ , and used it to avenge Liam’s death at the hands of a corrupt king,” Emma continues, and now he is well and truly at a loss for words. “I probably would have done the same thing. You spent years pillaging and plundering, and then,” her voice grows soft, “You met Milah.”

He’s frozen where he sits, his hand hovering over his glass, eyes locked on hers. She takes a chance - reaching out, she grasps his wrist, gently turning it to reveal his tattoo. She runs her thumb over the ancient ink, cradling his palm with her free hand. “You loved her. Very much.”

He seems almost in a trance as her fingers drift over his skin. “How?” he whispers.

She doesn’t stop. “And Rumplestiltskin murdered her. And he took your hand.” He finally blinks at the mention of the Dark One, snatching his arm back as though burned. “And you went to Neverland and spent centuries there, trying to find a way to kill him. What I don’t know is how you ended up back here, or what you’ve been doing since then. Where’s your ship? What happened to your crew?”

He shakes his head, still stunned. “You’re a bloody witch.”

“No.”

His voice grows dark. “There’s not a man or woman alive I’ve told that story to. What kind of magic did you use to get inside my head?” She’s heard this tone from him before but never directed at her, what she always thought of as his “Captain’s voice.” It’s more intimidating than she wants to admit.

“No! I used magic to find you, but I’m not reading your mind. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Each word is an accusation, pointed and clipped.

Emma laughs in spite of herself. “That’s a shame, because this story is about to get even weirder.”

“Stop playing games with me.”

She pours another shot, downing it in one go. “I’m not,” she bites back, and he seems surprised at the force of her words. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

The barmaid chooses that moment to return with their food, and the awkwardness does nothing to alleviate the thick fog of tension hanging over their little table.

“Please,” she tries once more, imploring. Killian looks down to his food and back to Emma, considering. He sighs, and then picks up his spoon.

* * *

 

He doesn’t interrupt her as she speaks, and she knows she’s doing a terrible job of explaining her life story - the whole thing is a mess and there’s no succinct way of boiling it all down into a few minutes. But he listens impassively, and despite his initial protests he eats every bit of food on his plate (how many nights has he forgone dinner for a bottle of rum?).

Her only consolation is the fact that Killian grew up in a realm where magic and curses actually exist, one massive hurdle she doesn’t have to conquer right now. She carefully leaves his role in her life out of the tale, not wanting to burden him with that particular knowledge just yet. When she finishes, he sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well,” he finally says. “That’s quite a story.”

“I know.”

“And this is why you seek a magic bean? To get back to the ‘real world,’ as you put it?”

“Yes.”

He rubs at his eyes. “You expect me to believe you want to leave your perfect life to get back to a reality where you were ripped apart from your parents as an infant, raised as an orphan, spent time in prison, and were separated from your son for a decade? Forgive my impertinence, Highness, but your story is, quite literally, unbelievable.”

She wants to grab his shoulders and shake him, to slap him, to kiss him, _anything_ to make him believe, but with the facts laid out so simply, he’s not wrong. “I know it sounds crazy. I just - I don’t know what to do to make you believe me.”

“What could you possibly want to get back to?”

She almost doesn’t answer, isn’t sure she wants to tread this ground with him, but if anything will convince him it’s this. “Love,” she says, a thousand paragraphs packed into one word.

He tilts his head. “That might be the first thing you’ve said tonight that makes sense.”

“I’m glad something got through,” she mutters, pouring herself another shot and knowing it’s a bad idea. He looks almost amused as she drinks it. She doesn’t speak as he studies her, waiting while his eyes drift curiously over her features. It’s not much different from his scrutiny on the beanstalk, though she’s worlds apart from the woman she was back then.

She wonders what he sees.

It’s not a one-sided exchange; they size each other up in an oddly comfortable silence as she examines the lines of his face. It’s surreal to see him like this, the first hints of the hazy fog of rum settling into her veins adding to the experience of seeing Killian finally, _finally_ able to grow older. There’s a bit gray in his stubble to go along with his unkempt hair and his cheeks are slightly flushed as they always are when he drinks.

Is this what he’ll look like after aging in the real world? Emma suddenly, desperately wants to see it, wants to be there every single day as the changes slowly take hold, wants to tease him about his first gray hairs and roll her eyes when he points out she’s got a few of her own.

The fierceness with which she _wants_ startles her. They may be True Love and they may be living together, but she’s never allowed her thoughts to jump that far ahead, usually too focused on their current crisis to even entertain the notion. Birthdays and holidays and meeting her parents for dinner at Granny’s and watching Henry and her little brother grow up and God, maybe even a kid of their own someday and -

She finally looks away, pouring another shot and pretending that the stinging sensation in her eyes is because of the rum.

“You know,” he finally says, shaking his head. “You’re nothing like I thought you’d be.”

“Never seen a princess drink rum?”

“Among other things. I’d always figured princesses to be empty-headed and flighty.”

She snorts. “What, did you think I spend all day picking flowers and humming silly love songs to myself?”

His eyebrow shoots up. “Something like that.”

“Well,” Emma shrugs, “sorry to disappoint you.”

His lips twitch upward. “Oh no, I’m not disappointed. You’re terribly inarticulate and almost certainly mad, but you are proving to be an entertaining conversationalist, if not a particularly good one.” She can’t help but grin, and his own tiny smile grows fractionally when he realizes she isn’t offended. “For someone of your station, diplomacy is not your strong suit.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

He actually laughs at that. It’s the first show of goodwill she’s gotten since sitting at his table, and her heart breaks when she reads between the lines and realizes just how lonely he is.

She has to clear her throat before plunging ahead. “Well, I’ve told you my life story, even if you think I’m totally insane. What about yours?”

His mood sours instantly. “You seem to know it all already.”

“Just some of it. The last thing I know is that you went to Neverland. How did you get back?”

He blessedly doesn’t reach for his bottle, looking down at his lap instead. And as much as he claims not to believe her, she’s convinced something might have gotten through when he answers - either that, or he’s so starved for company that he’s willing to share details he’s so clearly uncomfortable with.

“I was sent here on an errand for Pan. When I found out your parents had imprisoned the Dark One, I decided to risk Pan’s wrath and stay.”

Of course. “You thought you could get to Rumplestiltskin.”

“Aye. I must credit the guards at your castle; they were difficult to get by.”

Emma can’t help herself - she grins. “How many times did you break in?”

“Five,” he admits, and she laughs. _There’s the pirate I remember._ “After the last your parents banished me. I laid low for awhile, weighing my options.”

She’s reluctant to prod further, but he leaves his last sentence hanging. Almost like he wants her to ask but doesn’t think she will.

“What did you do?” Her voice is barely audible over the din of the tavern.

He chews on the answer for a long moment, and nothing could surprise her more than what he says when he finally speaks. “Nothing,” he says, an odd mix of incredulity and shame in his voice.

Emma is too shocked to respond, but he fills the silence for her. “Even if I could get to him, it’s unlikely Dreamshade would be deadly to him in that cell. And as much as I would love to get a hand on his dagger, I won’t become the Dark One just for the sake of killing him. And I realized - what’s the most important thing to him?”

“Power,” she answers, without hesitation and sudden understanding.

“Aye. Power. And he’s completely stripped of it, rotting away in that cell with nothing but his foul thoughts to keep him company.” Emma swallows heavily but he doesn’t notice - word may have gotten around about her parents’ “death” but Rumple’s release from his prison has not.

“It’s the perfect punishment,” he continues, nearly ranting, and for the first time that night she’s grateful for the amount of alcohol he’s consumed, the way it’s let him drop his guard enough to tell her this - and she’s likely the _only_ person he’s ever told, the way he lets it spill out of him.

“And he gets what he deserves and I’m left with nothing. Just an old soul with a body that’s finally catching up.” He doesn’t even bother pouring himself another shot, choosing to drink straight from his bottle instead. “I’ve wasted this life on a vengeance that was delivered by others. I can’t - “

He stops, sinking into his seat. He seems shocked that he even said it at all, and that emboldens her more than anything. She’s certain now that her presence is having an effect, this closed-off version of himself suddenly sharing intimate details he’d never reveal to anyone, much less a stranger.

Some part of him, deep down, knows her.

She can’t stop herself - she reaches across the table and covers his hand with hers. “I understand.”

“Do you?” His words are sharp but he doesn’t pull his hand away. “Have you ever watched the one you love die? Watched the life fall from their eyes as they fade in your arms?”

“ _Yes._ ” It’s not rational, she knows, but it’s the first time she’s felt truly angry with him since she sat down. “I know _exactly_ what it’s like.” She doesn’t remove her hand, merely squeezes his harder, tries to make him understand.

He doesn’t question her further, merely accepts her declaration. They sit for a long while, quiet, before she finally risks breaking the silence.

“Your crew didn’t stay with you, did they?” she finally asks.

“No,” he confirms, his eyes still on her their joined fingers, bewildered at the turn their conversation. “When it was clear I had no plans on sailing in the near future they deserted me. That, and my incarceration after my first attempt to break into the castle helped move things along swiftly enough."

“No loyalty among thieves, huh? And your ship?”

He balks before answering, finally pulling his hand from hers. “Seized by the Royal Navy after I broke into the castle the first time.”

“Oh.” Emma hadn’t thought about that, but it makes sense - an empty pirate ship wouldn’t just be left sitting in the bay.

He sighs, looking eager to change the subject. “So I take it that Baelfire is alive in this fantasy of yours?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “He’s Henry’s father, but he’s not my True Love.”

His brow furrows. “No?"

“No. I found someone else. And I need to get back to him. And to my parents, my _real_ parents.” Emma feels herself unraveling slightly, the weight of the implications if she _can’t_ get back home finally settling on her shoulders.

“You haven’t mentioned me in your little tale. How is it you know so much about me?”

She pauses before answering. “We know each other,” she allows.

“Dare I even ask?’

She finds herself laughing. “You probably shouldn’t. I doubt you’d believe me.”

“You’re probably right. But… humor me.” He throws her own words back at her. “Who’s the lucky man you’re so anxious to return to?”

She opens her mouth only to close it under his scrutiny, staring helplessly at him while she tries to find the words. It turns out she doesn’t need to. In any reality, she’s an open book.

His eyes widen as it dawns on him. “No.”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“That’s why you’ve come to me. It wasn’t about finding a magic bean. You wanted to… no.”

“Yes.” She reaches to grab his hand once more, squeezing his fingers tightly, silently begging him to believe her. “It’s you, Killian.”

He stares for a long moment, stunned and broken.

“It’s you,” she repeats. Waiting. Imploring.

And that’s what it takes for him to finally leave, unceremoniously standing and stalking out the door, taking his bottle with him. Emma can’t move at first, tears once again smarting before she raises her hood and stands, her skirts swishing as she leaves the tavern.

“Killian!” she calls once she’s outside, looking around until she spots him making his way down the road to her left. She jogs to catch up. “Killian! Please, don’t go, I just - “

He whirls around, his face stricken as she approaches. “Bloody hell, just leave me be! I don’t know what’s gotten into that head of yours, but whatever you’re looking for, I’m _not that man_.” He gestures wildly, rum sloshing out of the bottle he holds. “Keep your fantasies to yourself, Princess. I want no part of it.”

“If you thought I was lying you wouldn’t be running,” she counters. She grabs at his wrist once more. “I’m not lying, Killian. I know about your past because you told me. You tell me everything. It’s… it’s kind of what we do,” she says, her voice breaking on the words. “It’s why I love you.”

That’s what makes him finally drop the bottle, glass shattering beneath their feet.

Her words floor him, plain as day, and it’s another punch to the gut knowing he hasn’t heard a real declaration of love in centuries, not something so genuine. She gives up any pretense of being obtuse or clever and wills him to hear the truth in her words. “It’s why you love me.”

“You’re telling me that I’m your True Love,” he says, disbelieving, but she simply nods.

“It’s not possible. Milah…”

“You loved her,” she assures him. “You’ll always love her. You weren’t disrespecting her memory by falling in love again. You were honoring it.”

She can see that he hears her but he doesn’t quite believe it, can’t allow himself to. “And the Dark One?” he asks. “What became of him?”

“You gave up your vengeance.” Her grip on him loosens but he doesn’t pull back, and she takes the opportunity to lace her fingers with his. “You found something else to live for.”

The confusion is clear on his face even in the dim light. He’s battling himself, she knows, against the same sort of familiarity she felt when he approached her in New York. The sense that _something_ was wrong, a voice in the back of his mind telling him to listen to her despite his better judgment.

“And what was that?” he asks, deathly quiet, his gaze trained on their hands. His palm is mostly passive against hers, letting her hold him more than anything, but his thumb twitches against her skin.

“Me.” She wants to cry on the answer. “Us.”

He doesn’t react and she plows forward. “We’ve got a house together. It’s got a white picket fence and a beautiful view of the sea. And you love my son. You’ve never flat-out said it but I know, _God_ , I know. And he loves you, I know he does. He’s just a teenager, and I know it’s weird for him but he pretty much worships the ground you walk on when he thinks no one’s paying attention. You’re kind of a hero to him.”

“I’m no one’s hero,” he mutters.

“You _are_. You’re always, always trying to be a better man. And I love you for it.” She looks up to his astonished gaze. “And I’ve found the ring you’ve been hiding - seriously, in your underwear drawer? But I know you’re going to ask me to marry you. And I’m going to say yes.”

He closes his eyes and sways slightly on his feet. The air is still and quiet around them, too far from the tavern for the sound to carry. For a few long moments they simply breathe together.

“Killian,” she finally whispers.

“Why are you doing this?” His words are soft, no trace of anger left in his voice.

“You know why.” She looks down to their joined hands. “You know, this isn’t the first time we’ve met each other in another realm.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And every single time there’s a spark between us, even when one of us doesn’t have our memories.” She squeezes his hand more tightly. “Look at me, Killian. Look at me and tell me you don’t feel anything.”

He finally opens his eyes and she can see the struggle behind them. “I - love, I can’t - “

“You can,” she says, releasing his hand and slowly stepping in close. She reaches up and slides her hands over his face, thumbs tracing his jaw and her fingers just flirting with the ends of his hair. “Is it that hard to believe somebody could love you?”

He doesn’t answer and doesn’t need to. But his eyes fall to her mouth and back up again, the melancholy in his features shot through with longing. Longing, and perhaps a tiny sliver of hope.

She steps even closer, just enough to feel the heat radiating from his chest to hers. “Please, just let me - “

She tilts her face up and leans in, slowly enough that he can back away if he wants, but he remains frozen where he stands. When her nose brushes his, his eyes drift closed and his shaky sigh floats over her skin. “I love you,” she whispers, and presses her lips to his.

His mouth is soft and unmoving beneath hers save for the quick breath he draws in at her touch. She doesn’t push it, simply lets him feel her against him and waits, sliding one hand down to rest over his chest.

For several long moments Killian doesn’t react, and Emma starts to pull away when his hand slides across the small of her back to hold her in place. His head tilts and he just barely presses in but it’s enough for both of them to relax in each other’s arms, little by little with each breath between them.

He’s slow and careful at first, like relearning a long-forgotten song. But it’s still _Killian_ and she lets him fall into her, waits for him to be the first to rumble a soft little noise in the back of his throat, waits for him to part his lips and lean into it, waits for his tongue to slide over hers. In spite of everything it’s still the same as it always is with them, easy and perfect as the True Loves they’ve always been fated to be, no matter the realm or the lives that led them here.

She drowns in it, savoring the the heat and the taste of him as he discovers her all over again, her hand tightening in his hair. She almost doesn’t register when he stiffens in her arms but he suddenly breaks the kiss, breathing heavily as he presses his forehead to hers. There’s something new in his eyes as he stares at her, something that wasn’t there before and -

“Swan?”

 They both freeze where they stand, a long, breathless silence stretching out before she dares to ask, her fingers gripping at his lapel.

“Killian…?” Hoping. Begging. Praying.

Another pause, another breath. And then: “ _Swan._ ”

Emma smiles, and pulls him in again.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally only planned on a sequel to this, but there's so much I want to cover it looks like this will be a three-parter. Regina fans, be warned: this isn't the kindest chapter towards her character, but I tried to keep everything in canon. Enjoy!

All at once Killian’s kiss becomes deeper, nearly frantic as his left arm wraps around Emma’s waist while his hand presses up, sliding between her shoulder blades. He nearly lifts her off her feet, her toes just barely dragging on the ground and suddenly he’s not kissing her anymore, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

“ _Emma_.” Her name is muffled against her skin, released on a shuddering exhale as he pulls her in tighter.

She closes her eyes and lets him hold her, her fingers running soft little circles through his hair as they sway in each other’s arms. “It’s me,” she gets out on a disbelieving laugh, halfway to crying. “I’m here. I’m here.”

His grip on her relaxes just the tiniest bit, her full weight finally starting to settle back on her feet but he doesn’t let her go, his mouth pressed to the skin of her neck as he breathes her in. He seems reluctant to pull away but he finally, finally leans back enough to look at her.

The utter disbelief on his face breaks her heart all over again, his hand settling softly on her cheek as he looks her over, taking in her face, her braid, her ridiculous dress - she’d toned down the princess clothing for her visit to the tavern but her outfit, the plainest she could find in her wardrobe, still must have been staggeringly expensive.

“You - I thought I’d - “ he shakes his head, stunned, like he’s trying to work through all the memories that have just come rushing back to him, all the things this alternate version of himself never knew he could have staring him in the face.

She smiles, trying to hold herself together for him. “I had to find you.”

She’s pulled into another hug, less crushing this time. “Thank the gods you did,” he whispers against her ear and she has to blink back tears at the relief in his voice.

When he pulls back he looks her over once more, a slow smile spreading over his face and even in the dim light it’s nearly blinding, the first real smile she’s seen since she took the seat across from him in that pub. “Look at you, _Princess_.”

It’s so like his old self to lighten the moment and she can’t help but laugh, lightly smacking his upper arm. “Look at _you_ , old man.”

His grin widens, his hand finally leaving her lower back to scratch at his ear. “Joke all you want, Swan, but I’m still devilishly handsome.”

Her smile softens and she reaches up, taking his face in her hands. “You are.” Her thumbs trace the lines at the corners of his eyes and when he leans in his lips are soft against hers, the sweet, reassuring kiss of a man who knows how loved he is.

He keeps his forehead to hers when they break away. “Swan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you, too.”

He kisses the smile that breaks out on her face, fifty years of new memories between them evaporating in the scant space between their lips. He sighs, a huge, shuddering breath that shakes the both of them, and then, so quietly she can hardly hear:

“Thank you.”

Emma’s throat tightens while she searches for a response. She finds none and settles for pulling him into her arms once again. He goes easily, his weight sagging against her but she doesn’t mind, not when she gets to be the one holding him up, just as he’s done for her so many times.

He’s shameless in the way he holds onto her, his nose nestled in the crook where her neck meets her shoulder. She lets him take what he needs to stand up straight again, long breaths and soft sighs against her skin, his hand pressing warmth into the small of her back. Truth be told, she needs it too, to simply hold and be held after the day she’s had. There’s so much to do, so much for them to talk about, but she silences the voice in the back of her head and closes her eyes, and for a few minutes they let themselves be still.

Emma hasn’t let herself do this much, not since those blissful six weeks that seem so long ago - days full of morning coffees and lunch dates and long weekends where they hardly left the bed, hushed conversations about their pasts and limbs tangling together between the sheets. When every day she fell a little bit more in love with him even if she wasn’t ready to admit it. She aches for the memory of that simplicity and he must feel it in her, the way her shoulders tense, and he presses a soft kiss against her neck before lifting his head to look down at her, one eyebrow raised and she knows whatever he’s about to say is an effort to distract her.

And damn him, it works.

“So, Swan… did we finally have True Love’s Kiss?”

His eyebrows actually _dance_ in that ridiculous way only he can pull off, and she can’t stop her laughter. “I - I don’t think so,” she says, shaking her head in spite of her smile. “There wasn’t any curse to break. And there wasn’t any flash of light or some weird breeze all of a sudden, so…”

“Damn.” He doesn’t seem too put-out by it, pleased enough that he’s got her smiling again. “One of these days, surely.”

“Eh, maybe.” She shrugs. “I’d rather not ever have to break another curse again. What’s the last thing you remember? I mean, from the real world.”

“Your wish being granted. After that, nothing. How long have you been in this… reality?” he asks.

“Just a day.” She leans back but he doesn’t let go of her, his arms steady around her waist.

“I see.” He bites his lip, considering. “How did I get my memories back, then? It’s not a curse. And I’m - “ he glances down, then back to her, “ - this isn’t my body from the real world, obviously. Why do I look older?”

Her mind races, trying to come up with an answer and finding none. “I don’t… I have no idea,” she admits. “I should talk to Regina. She probably knows more about this stuff than I do.”

Killian looks shocked. “ _Regina_? What, she’s here? How did she - ”

“Uh, yeah. I already told you in the tavern. She - “

“ _No_ , you told me the Evil Queen murdered your parents. What does - ” he falters, like he doesn’t want to believe it.

“She…” _Shit_. “The Evil Queen didn’t kill my parents. That was Regina.” It sounds ridiculous even to her own ears.

He finally lets her go, stepping out of her arms, his features torn between confused and horrified. “She _what_?”

“She - “ Emma starts, but she can’t finish the sentence. She desperately tries another tack. “They weren’t real. She was trying to get me to remember. None of this is…” she trails off, the full implications of her words settling in.

She and Killian stare at one another, the air disappearing between them.

He swallows heavily, his gaze falling to the ground and then back to her, confused and scared and so, so hurt. “So I’m not - “

" _No_.” The force of her response shocks her but the feeling behind it doesn’t, and she’s in his space and gripping his elbows before she’s finished saying the word. “No, Killian. You’re - “ she pulls him in and doesn’t let him look away, and this version of himself has been thrown away too many goddamned times for it to happen again, she won’t _let_ it.

“No,” she says firmly, reaching up to hold his face and it takes a few seconds but he finally relaxes just the slightest bit under her touch, like she’s finally getting through to him. But it’s not until she silently mouths _I love you_ that he exhales, as though that’s all he needed, like that’s enough for him.

It’s not enough for her.

“I’m going to talk to Regina, and we’ll figure this out,” she says finally. He nods, and she forces a smile, and they both pretend that everything will be okay.

* * *

 

“He’s not real.”

Emma crosses her arms over her chest, her knuckles turning white as her fingers dig into her biceps. “No? Because he remembers. _Everything_.”

Regina sighs, throwing her arms out exasperatedly. “The real Killian is still in our world, trust me. I saw him with my own eyes before I came here.”

“Then how the hell does he remember?” She knows she’s yelling and doesn’t care a whit, not with these stakes. They’re isolated enough in this room at the far end of the castle, away from the prying eyes of the Royal Guard. Emma had ordered them to search far and wide for the Evil Queen, knowing it would distract them, at least in the short term, and provide enough cover to keep Henry and the rest of the kingdom from falling into a panic. The east wing (and the protection spells she and Regina had put on it) provided more than enough space to maintain the lie for a few days.

“This was your wish, right?” Emma doesn’t quite nod, but Regina takes it as enough to keep talking. “All right. So even if you didn’t really mean it at the time, you still had a passing thought that you didn’t want to be the Savior. Even if that was the case, would you still have wanted to live in a world with Killian in it? Even if you weren’t the Savior?”

Her jaw tightens. “Of course I would. He’s the… yes. I would.”

“Well, there you go,” Regina says, with a painful finality. “The man you wanted is here. But he’s not real.”

“He feels pretty goddamned real to me,” she says with an increasing intensity that Regina doesn’t quite pick up on.

“I know, but he isn’t,” she insists. “This entire world is built on a wish, Emma. This whole… _thing_ depends on your presence here. As soon as we’re able to go back, they’ll disappear as if they never existed in the first place.”

Emma swallows heavily, clenching her teeth as she speaks. “So that’s it, then? A man lives a miserable life, is finally given some hope that his existence means something and that people love him, and then he just _disappears_? That’s it?”

“Look, I know you don’t like it, but - “

“ _Of course_ I don’t like it!” Emma yells, and Regina finally seems taken aback. “You’re seriously going to tell me this when you’re trying to convince Robin to come back with you?”

Regina flinches but holds her ground. “I’m not - “

“Oh, bullshit. Of course you are, so spare me. You’re way too happy to tell me none of this is real, but that sure as hell didn’t matter to you once Robin showed up.”

Regina’s face darkens. “Don’t you dare. If you were in my position, don’t tell me you wouldn’t try to - “

“Of course I would,” Emma cuts in. “But you _murdered my parents in front of me_.” She laughs, hollow and caustic. “You finally got to kill them! Was it everything you hoped it’d be?”

Regina blanches. “Look, that’s not - “

“ _Shut up._ ” The force of Emma’s words is such that her magic crackles around her, not quite a warning but close enough.

“Emma, I - “

“No,” she cuts her off, and as angry as she’s ever been at Regina nothing can touch the rage she feels in that moment, for herself, her parents, and for the man she loves. “It’s funny, isn’t it? You didn’t bat an eye at killing my parents. You’re so damn _quick_ to tell me they weren’t real, but you couldn’t think that way with Henry and you sure as hell aren’t thinking that way with Robin.”

Regina opens her mouth to speak, but Emma plows on before she can get a word in edgewise.

“You can justify it to yourself all you want, but they’re still _people_. They’re flesh and blood and they have _memories_ , dammit.” Emma laughs again, short and rough and blindingly angry. “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you’d jumped through the damn portal in the first place. So right now the only thing you need to be worried about is figuring out how to get us back. Until then, don’t talk to me.”

Emma puffs away in a cloud of smoke before Regina can respond.

* * *

 

Killian sits on the bed in the room she materializes in, a startled blink his only reaction when she appears.

He nods resignedly, looking down to his feet. “I’d ask how it went, but I could hear you yelling.”

She sighs and crosses the room to sit next to him, her hands clenched in her lap. “Yeah, I think that about covers it.” She can’t really bring herself to say anything, but he takes care of that for her.

“So,” he says, his voice defeated. “It’s as you thought? I’m not - “

“You’re _real_ ,” she tells him fiercely. “I don’t give a shit what Regina says. And… if I - _when_ I go back, she says this world will cease to exist.”

“Including me.” There’s no anger in his voice, only grim acceptance, and her hand finds his, their fingers lacing together.

“Killian…” she says helplessly, at a loss for what to say.

“Just give me a moment, love.” He doesn’t look at her as his thumb traces over her knuckles, gentle circles that would be soothing if she didn’t know the intent behind them. She leans into his shoulder and gives his fingers a light squeeze. There’s nothing to say, not really, so she stays quiet and lets him work through it all in his head while she waits. She presses a soft kiss to his shoulder before turning her head and resting her cheek against him. The set of his shoulders slowly relaxes and she allows herself to melt into him, lets him feel how comfortable he makes her even in the worst of times, and it’s a long while before she realizes they’re breathing in tandem, slow, even breaths perfectly in sync as they always are.

It takes awhile before she realizes he’s not going to speak first. When she takes it upon herself there’s only one thing she can say, the words coming as easily as breathing.

“I love you,” she tells him, soft and quiet. The words had been so hard for her before, no matter how true they were, but now she feels it so deeply and shamelessly that she wants to shout it from the rooftops, never wants to make him doubt her feelings for him ever again. And she can’t stop once she’s said it, desperate for him to know, to _understand_ how important this is to her, to _them_ , and she’s never been all that good with words but making him hear it is more important than any of her own hangups.

“I’ve met you so many times, Killian,” she gets out, and the words are awkward on her tongue but he needs to hear this. “A pirate, and a deckhand, and an old man who didn’t think he had anything to live for.”

“Emma - “

“ _No_ , just listen, please, I don’t know how to say - I just - “ she huffs, rolling her eyes at her lack of eloquence. She finally turns her head to look at him. “I don’t care what version of you I’ve met, it’s still _you_ . I love all of them. You - _this_ version of you - you’re not just some blip on the radar that I’m going to forget about when I go home. You’re - it’s you. It’s always you.”

He closes his eyes and breathes, and when he looks at her, _finally_ , he seems to settle into himself, leaning in until their foreheads touch. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” he murmurs, his nose nudging hers.

“Once or twice,” she allows, a tiny smile pulling at her lips.

“Still terribly inarticulate, though.”

She smacks his shoulder a little harder than she intends to, but it makes him laugh nonetheless.

“Careful there, Swan. I’m an old man now, remember?”

“Oh, come on. You’ve _always_ been old. Now you just look it, too.”

His smile turns wry. “Is it that bad?”

She grins. “Not at all.” She reaches up, scratching her fingers through the graying hair at his temple. “I kinda like it, actually.”

He hums in response, closing his eyes briefly at her touch before leaning in closer. “I know you can’t stay here forever,” he says, punctuating his words with soft kisses to her cheek, her temple, her chin. “You’ll find a way home like you always do, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you. But it would be a terrible shame if you didn’t let me make love to you before you go.”

His words have the same innuendo and humor they always do, but Emma doesn’t miss the hint of a plea in his tone. She keeps forgetting - even with his memories back this version of him never found love after Milah, wasting away in taverns for decades after losing his chance at vengeance. He was hardly able to let go of her when she went to talk to Regina, his fingers sliding regretfully from hers while she left him to wait alone before learning his fate.

This version of Killian hasn’t been loved in centuries, not really. It’s still one of her biggest regrets when she was in the Author’s storybook, that she never pulled a shy deckhand in close to kiss him, never told him he was worthy, never truly showed him that he could have _more_.

“God, _yes_ ,” she breathes. She’s hardly gotten the words out when his mouth claims hers, sweet but intense, an easy roll of his lips against hers while his tongue delves inside, curling around hers and coaxing quiet little moans out of her that muffle against his mouth as they open up to one another. It’s so deep, so soft the way they move together as he leans over her, pressing her down into the sheets.

Her thighs fall open as he settles above her, her knees lightly hugging his sides and she can’t help but grin when he lifts up, always the gentleman, eyebrow raised as his hand settles on her hip. “Are you certain you want to do this with an _old man_ , as you so bluntly put it?”

Emma pointedly wraps her leg around the small of his back, rolling her hips up into his. “A devilishly handsome old man, remember?” she reminds him, and he grins. “But this’d be better without the clothes.”

He glances down, eyes roaming appreciatively over the swell of her breasts. “Perhaps, but I do have a fondness for you wearing a corset.”

“And I have a fondness for being able to breathe.” She rolls her eyes at his smirk. “Maybe you could develop a fondness for taking me _out_ of a corset instead?”

His expression softens. “Aye.”

He shifts, taking her hand and bringing her upright, sliding off the bed and pulling her to stand with him. She shivers slightly at the loss of his body heat; the temperature has steadily dropped since sundown and as thick as the castle walls are, some of the chill from the outside air has crept in. Killian notices, of course. He wordlessly leads her across the room, bringing her to stand in the soft glow of the fireplace.

“Better?” he asks, the word soft against her ear as he moves to stand behind her, his hand sliding down her arm.

“Mmm-hmm.” She closes her eyes as he breathes her in, leaning back against him while she soaks in the heat of the fire. It may warm her skin but Killian’s presence seeps into her very bones, doing more to chase off the chill than the flames ever could.

“Now where were we?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that she feel against the side of her neck more than she hears.

“Corset,” is all she says, her voice breathier than she intended. He knows what this does to her, the light graze of his stubble against the sensitive skin near her throat causing goosebumps to erupt all over.

“Ah, yes.” She feels him smile against the back of her neck, it and her shoulders already exposed to him thanks to her intricate braid. His fingers drift across the skin he can see, reverent and feather-light until they stop between her shoulder blades, fingering at the laces there. “Did you put on this lovely thing just for my benefit when you came to the tavern?” he asks, warm breaths skittering over her skin as he pulls the knot free.

And oh, he _definitely_ knows what he’s doing to her now, the way the tenor of his voice so close to her ear makes her go weak in the knees. She closes her eyes and lets it wash over her, more than happy to let him do as he wishes. “That was the original plan, yeah.”

“I may not have seemed interested,” he continues, slowly dragging the laces from the first set of eyelets down the back of her dress, a pace that will take ages for her to be fully undressed but she doesn’t care, not with his voice all around her and his mouth against her skin, “and I tried not to be, not when I realized who you were. But bloody hell, you were - are - so beautiful.” Another pull at the laces, another half-inch of skin revealed.

“I wanted you,” he confesses, his lips drifting over her jaw, and she tilts her head to give him better access. “I suppose I always will, no matter the reality, but it seemed so ridiculous, a beautiful young princess and an old pirate like me. But the more you spoke, the way you looked at me, _Gods_ …”

She can’t go another moment without touching him, reaching up and over her shoulder to slide her fingers in his hair and he sighs contentedly, continuing to slowly work out the laces. “Killian…”

“Shhh.” He presses a kiss just below her ear. “Some part of me knew you. It drove me crazy, love, trying to suss out why you seemed so familiar. Why I wanted to kiss you so badly.” His mouth falls to her shoulder and he chuckles against her flesh. “And then you held my hand and told me you loved me.”

For all the heat he’s generated within her, roiling up deep in her belly and spreading until she’s buzzing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, her chest tightens at his words, light and happy as they sound. Leave it to Killian to seduce her and pour his heart out at the same time.

He seems to sense it in her. “It’s all right, love,” he promises, unlacing her steadily but faster now, more than halfway down her back. She’s forced to let go of his head as he slides down, trailing his lips along her spine. “A few hours ago I was quite miserable and on my way to getting blindingly drunk. But now I’m here.”

Emma is thankful that the corset’s hold on her ribs has loosened and allows her to breathe deeply once more. She can’t even find it in her to speak after what he’s just told her but he doesn’t seem to expect her to, content to unlace the rest of her dress and press his lips to every inch of skin as it’s revealed to him. She focuses on that instead, the slow burn of arousal he’s building within her and the softness of his lips against her skin.

He finally finishes his task, wordlessly pulling the dress down over her hips and helping her step out of it. She toes off her dainty little ankle boots and reaches for her petticoats but he beats her to it, sliding them down over her hips, his hand leaving a hot trail against her leg as he goes.

She’s left in nothing but her thigh-high stockings when he stands; she starts to turn to face him but is stilled by his hand at her waist.

“Not yet, love.” Before she ask, his hand reaches over her shoulder, pulling at the tie that holds her braid together. “Relax,” he whispers.

And so she does, leaning against him once more as his fingers slowly unwind the strands. She knew he loved her hair considering how often he toyed with it, playfully tossing it with the tip of his hook or absentmindedly running his fingers through it whenever he kissed her. But he’s never taken the time to do this, quietly and methodically taking out her braid until it’s just the scratch of his nails against her scalp, combing out the last of it until it spills in waves over her shoulders, the last bit of tension melting from her body.

He finally turns her to face him, a murmured “Let me look at you” in her ear.

His eyes are dark as he takes her in, blue giving way to black in the light of the fire. She doesn’t miss the way the breath flies out of him as his gaze roams her body, aroused and delighted but, most of all, _relieved_. She knows the feeling, to finally have him before her after thirty years in this realm away from him. False memories or not, they still tug at her heart and mind as if she’d lived every day of them.

She reaches up, palm sliding against his cheek. “I missed you, too.”

Killian’s smile is grateful, for as much as he wears his heart on his sleeve Emma knows she needs to meet him halfway. He leans in, just a sweet brush of his lips against hers before pulling back, his hand skimming over her ribs. His left arm moves to do the same but he stops himself, looking down at the leather-clad false hand he wears. He stares at it for only a moment before reaching down and wrenching the attachment away, unbuckling his brace and tossing it aside as well.

“Do you still have your hook?” she asks, so quiet she wonders if he even heard her.

“Aye, hidden far away from here. It made me too easy to recognize and it’s not as though I needed it.” His voice is a tad bitter, but the feeling melts away when he’s able to reach up with both arms, hand and wrist tracing her sides.

His thumb skirts over her nipple as she gasps, keeping her eyes on his. “You never needed it.” She lets out a slow, controlled breath while his thumb traces soft circles over her, more sparks on the fire he’s stoking within her. “I love it,” she tells him, shivering at the memory of the cold steel tracing her skin, “but that’s not why I love you.”

“ _Emma_.” His mouth devours hers but somehow the mood doesn’t shift, everything still slow and lazy between his arms in the warmth of the fire. His lips and tongue move smooth and sure against her and she relaxes and takes it, lets him move her how he likes and there’s something powerful in it, to let herself go so completely and let the man she trusts more than anyone take care of her.

But the instinct to do the same for him is just as strong - she pushes back just a little when he breaks away to breathe, her hands reaching for the laces at his waist, the idea of dropping to her knees and taking him as far as he can go in her mouth scorching her thoughts. But his hand and wrist still her while his lips nip at hers.

“Later, love.” He’s as breathless and wrecked as she feels, and it’s the only thing that keeps her from protesting the heat of his hand at her hip. The way he kisses her, _God_ , so much packed into such a simple gesture.

She chuckles against his mouth. “I can’t believe you just turned down a blowjob.”

His eyebrow shoots up. “Who said I turned anything down?” He doesn’t stop her as she reaches for the buttons on his vest, letting out a laugh of his own when her mouth finds the tendons on his neck. “I’ve got all night if you do.”

“Got it. Sex first, blowjobs later.” She doesn’t care what order they go in, she just needs to see him too, to feel his skin against hers. The vest goes easily and then she’s tugging at his shirt, not even bothering with the buttons before lifting it over his head.

Killian raises his arms obligingly as she undresses him, an amused little smile on his face as she tosses the offending garment away. “Is this a race?”

His question is laced with good humor but it sobers her anyway. “...a little bit, yeah,” she admits, her hands stilling against the laces of his trousers. She lifts her eyes slowly, taking him in as he stands before her.

He’s heavier than before, most of the familiar tan and  muscle tone lost after years away from sailing, and also just… years. It’s another ache in her chest, yet _another_ chance she missed, how he’d been here in this world the whole time, not more than a few miles from the castle where she thought she’d never find love again. It’s another chance _he_ missed.

Her hands find his chest, fingers scratching through the hair now peppered with gray and he may look different but it’s still _him_. When she finally meets his eyes there’s understanding in the way he looks at her, his breath catching as her hands slide down his abdomen to rest at his waist.

“Sorry,” she says. “I really know how to bring the mood down, don’t I?”

“Swan, you’re standing naked before me. I don’t think that’s possible.”

Perhaps it’s the deadly serious way he says it, or the fact that motion of his left eyebrow is even more pronounced and ridiculous than usual, but her startled laugh is long and loud. She’s rewarded with the lines around his eyes deepening as he fights his own smile. “God, I love you,” she finally breathes out, and that’s what makes his expression break, his grin even more appealing in the light of the fire.

He leans in, brushing his lips over hers. “And I you.” He presses even closer, his mouth just brushing against her ear while his hand slides down her belly, stopping just short of where she wants him. “You may have your ideas about how this night should go, but I’ve got my own as well. Would you like me to show you?” he asks, dangerous and low, pressing down with two fingers and sliding lower and lower still, so close now, heat pooling between her legs in anticipation.

She’s gripping his upper arms now, eyes closed and waiting. “Yes.”

“Good.” Her breath puffs across his chest when his fingers slide home, gathering the wetness there and tracing slow, deliberate circles against her flesh with exactly as much pressure as he knows she likes, nothing light or teasing about his touch as her toes curl into the floor. “Go lie on the bed, love.“ He punctuates his words with one last press of his hand that makes her moan. “And leave the stockings on.”

_Fuck_. She makes it to the bed on wobbly legs, falling back against the pillows and watching as he divests himself of his boots and trousers before climbing up to join her. He settles over her, propped up with his knee between hers, and there it is again - that same astonished, relieved look on his face he’s had ever since his memories returned.

“Hey,” she says, her hand finding his face. “You okay?”

His smile is on the sheepish side. “Aye. It just feels like it’s been so long.”

“I know. But hey, we’ve got all night, right?”

His nose nudges hers, his weight beginning to settle on top of her. “Right.”

It’s not that Emma had ever disliked kissing (she enjoyed it very much, in fact), but Killian positively adores it. Soft pecks on the cheek, frantic and hurried clashes of lips and teeth, or deep and slow - it didn’t matter. The man could devote hours to her mouth, chuckling against her lips and stroking her tongue with his long past the point when she wanted to push things further, content with long, lazy makeout session on the couch before she hit her breaking point and dragged them upstairs to bed (if they even made it that far).

But he’s slowly brought her around to his way of thinking and she’s giving the man any damn thing he wants tonight. She welcomes his weight, the scratch of his chest hair against her breasts electric as she slides her hands up his ribs to settle on his back while he nips and teases at her lips before plunging inside, his mouth hot and inviting and so, so good.

It’s a surprise when he suddenly tugs at her lower lip with his teeth and rolls his hips against hers, the length of him sliding over her clit as she gasps into his mouth.

“ _Fuck_ , Killian, right there,” she groans, lifting her hips and chasing more.

He gives her one, two more rolls of his hips before backing away, but before she can chase after more he’s sliding down, catching her nipple in his mouth with just a hint of teeth before swirling his tongue and pulling off with a soft little _pop_.

“God, you’re such a tease,” she laughs, burying her hands in his hair.

“Is that so? Would you prefer my mouth elsewhere?” he asks before shifting his attentions to her other breast, giving it the same treatment before lifting his head to look at her, raising one expectant eyebrow.

She could continue their banter, sass him right back and let him drag it out, but he’s worked her up so artfully she’s beyond caring how shameless she seems. “Please,” she begs.

His eyes darken at the desperation in her voice, and he presses one last kiss to her chest before sliding lower. His hand skates over the soft silk of her stocking before fingering at the lace at the top, skimming over her thigh, seemingly mesmerized by the garment. Emma makes a mental note to get a set for herself once she gets back home, only for her heart to seize in her chest once more.

To get back to Killian, she’ll have to leave him again.

“Promise me you’ll get a pair of these once you get back home,” he says, still toying with the lace at her thigh. When he looks up again, his smile is wry. “I quite like them.”

She nods, swallowing heavily before speaking. “And you got to see me in them first.”

His smile grows, becoming more genuine as he leans over her once more. “That I did.” His kiss is swift and pointed. “Now enough melancholy, love. I do believe I was about to make you come on my tongue.”

She grins. “Better get to it then, Captain.”

“As you wish.”

He’s no longer teasing when he settles between her legs, sliding his arm under her thigh to draw her leg over his shoulder, his hand resting on her hip as he dips his head. As long as she lives, in any universe, nothing she’s ever seen is as erotic as Killian’s head between her thighs, and she sighs at the sight, carding her fingers through his hair.

Killian does truly adore kissing her, and not just her mouth.

And that’s how he starts, a soft kiss pressed to her clit as she hums in approval, scratching her nails along his scalp. It’s not a tease, not when she knows how he works, the way he slowly builds until she clawing at the sheets and pushing her hips into his face.

He’s always been brilliant at this, slow laps of his tongue over her nerves and then a few soft passes inside her, nothing that will make her come but so good all the same. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears as he increases the pressure, reducing her entire being to the small space just below his mouth, one long swipe of his tongue before he closes his lips over her clit and sucks.

She’d been content to lie back and melt under his lips and tongue but that’s what finally makes her hips buck, the slow rhythm he sets as his mouth pulls at her flesh, the soft little pulses of his tongue setting her on fire and she chases after it, the way the pressure starts building at the base of her spine and the tops of her thighs, all of it pulling inward to where he’s methodically working her over and pulling her apart.

He’s ready for it, his wrist pressing down on her abdomen, not letting her fuck his face as he sometimes does, making her lie still and take it while he pulls her higher and higher. She hangs on and waits for the feel of his fingers, the way he’ll curl them inside her when he knows she’s getting close, but they don’t come and she’s too far gone to ask for it, knows that he can make her come just like this, just like he promised.

Her moans grow higher and he’s pulling her close, so close and her skin feels too tight as he pulls and sucks with his mouth and she’s almost there, just a few more -

He pulls away abruptly, a shock to her senses and before she can move, can even _think_ he’s lifting up, lining himself up and burying himself inside her in one hard stroke. He slides easily, she’s so open and wet and ready for him, and he presses in and grinds his pelvis to her clit, rolling his hips against her.

She comes instantly, the sudden gratification of being filled and the extra pressure on her clit finally letting her coil tight and then release, clenching around him while he fucks her through it. She grips at his shoulders wraps her legs around his waist while she rides it out, surprised and sated and giddy as it subsides, relaxing underneath him to take his thrusts with a delighted laugh. Someday he’ll stop finding new ways to surprise her.

He smiles at her reaction, slowing his hips to lean down and kiss her. “Good?”

“So good,” she giggles, hazy and buzzing and happy. “God, do what you need to come, just - “

“I won’t last long,” he warns her, his voice tight.

“Mmmm, don’t care, just _come_ , that was amazing, don’t stop - “

He doesn’t answer with words but speeds up his hips. She does her best to lift up to meet him and knows he likes it by the sounds he makes, the way his moans rise in pitch when she finds her rhythm with him. She won’t come again this way and doesn’t care, wants to watch him fall and pushes the hair off his forehead as he moves, smiling when his eyes meet hers.

He’s right, it doesn’t take much for him to get close, a steady build as his thrusts grow faster and his moans less restrained. His forehead drops to hers when he comes, stilling against her and pulsing inside of her while she holds him, her hands at his back and her legs around his waist.

Their breathing slows together and he can’t help but smile when he opens his eyes, every bit as pleased and sated as she feels. He doesn’t quite giggle with her but it’s a near thing, his chuckles joining hers and for Emma it’s the best kind of sex, when it’s so good there’s nothing left to do but grin at each other and laugh, when words can’t do it justice.

His kiss is different when he leans in, sweet and grateful and she wants to wrap the moment up and keep it with her forever. It can’t last, though, and the moment finally breaks when he pulls away to deal with the petty realities of the situation, leaving the bed to fetch a rag from the water basin in the corner of the room.

He’s gentle and quiet when he cleans her up, tossing the cloth aside before pulling back the covers, an unspoken invitation she answers immediately. His arm finds its way around her shoulder when she sidles up to him, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead as they settle under the covers. On any other night she’d close her eyes and let sleep pull her under; instead she laces her fingers together and settles them on his chest, propping her chin there to look up at him.

“So,” she finally says, a slow smile spreading over her face. “All night?”

His eyes soften. “Aye, love.” His hand finds her hair, his thumb tracing soothing circles over her temple. “All night.”

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had intended on this being 3 chapters, but now it looks like it'll be 4. Enjoy!

Killian’s fingers never leave Emma’s skin. It’s as though he can’t decide where he wants to touch her, first brushing her hair from her forehead before his knuckles caress her cheek, drifting down over her collarbone before sliding under the covers to lightly trace nonsense patterns across her bare back.

It’s one of Emma’s favorite things about him, how he becomes so soft in intimate moments like these. Even before he remembered her it was the same, the way he let her hold his hand, the way he kissed her back when she took a chance and pulled him to her. She closes her eyes and rests her cheek to his chest, falling into the feeling, the only sounds his steady heartbeat under her ear and the faint crackling of the fire.

She touches him too, her thumb painting circles over his chest before sliding her hand over his shoulder and down his arm. He sighs when she wraps her fingers around his blunted wrist and she loves that about him too, that he’s vulnerable enough to let her do this. Someday she’ll work up the courage to ask if anyone had touched his bare wrist before her. She suspects not, but it’s such a delicate thing, the way he feels about it. Sometimes it’s all bravado but in others she can see the insecurity there, all the subtle little looks and playful self-deprecating comments he thinks she doesn’t notice. In the meantime she settles for grabbing his hook whenever she can, for holding his wrist like it’s nothing because it truly is for her, for making him forget and telling him she loves him.

The silence between them stretches out comfortably. It’s something else she loves, the way it’s so easy to be in one another’s space this way. She gives herself a few minutes to bask in it, knowing they’ll soon be headed for a conversation that will probably leave her in tears (and she’s had too many of those these days). So she savors it, his body heat warding off the chill in the room and his hand soft at her back while she breathes deep and listens to the beat of his heart, solid and steady and _real_.

He ends up speaking first. “Don’t go falling asleep on me, Swan.” She can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m not,” she assures him, her thumb caressing his wrist and soaking up the heat of his skin. “Just enjoying a quiet moment, y’know?”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Aye,” is all he says, but there’s an unspoken question left hanging.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I was wondering if I’ll - well, if the version of me in the real world - will remember this when you go back.”

She chews on her lip, lifting her head to look at him. “I don’t think so. In the Author’s story we were all transported to that world and then sent back when it was over. But you’re - you’re an entirely separate body from…” she pauses, not wanting to say _the real Killian_ because she doesn’t believe it, not really.

“I suspected as much,” he says, soft and quiet. The silence grows once more, far more tense this time. “Well,” he finally offers, a forced humor in his words, “I suppose this means you can ask me anything with no lasting consequences. Have at it, Swan.” His smile is pained, and she can see that even he knows he’s not fooling her.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t… I can’t do that to you. It means I’ll have to lie to you when I get back.” She sighs, but tries for a smile of her own. “No more secrets, remember?”

His own expression turns more genuine, his exhale quick and relieved. “I love you so much.”

She closes her eyes, breathing deep and fighting off the tears that threaten to surface. “I love you too.” When she opens them again his face is finally relaxed, waiting for her to continue. “I just - I am curious about one thing. And it’s not a question like _that_.”

“What’s that?”

“How are you okay with this? You’re gonna help me get back, and you _know_ what’s going to happen to you when I do, but you just…” Emma trails off, shaking her head.

His face changes then to a look she’s seen before and it’s a punch to the gut when she recognizes it, the exact same expression he wore before sending her up the elevator in the Underworld. “I’m not okay with it,” he admits. “I’m bloody furious.”

Emma’s throat tightens. “I know how you feel.” She can’t voice her feelings more than that, but the unadulterated anger running through the words gets her point across. She’s astonished he’s even telling her this given his efforts to be strong for her, but his words ring in her ears - _you can ask me anything with no consequences_ \- and what he really wants from her now becomes clear.

“But,” he continues, “I also know how I felt when I watched you disappear in front of me when the Evil Queen made that wish. And I know there’s a man back in the real world who loves you more than life itself who desperately wants to see you again. And he deserves to.”

“He does,” she agrees. “But you deserve more, too.” It's still strange to discuss this as though he's a separate entity to her Killian back home, but she doesn't fight him on it, at least not now.

He sighs, his hand tightening at the small of her back. “What I deserve has nothing to do with it, it seems. I can’t allow myself think about that.”

“Maybe you can,” she ventures. She continues when he looks at her strangely. “What do you want to ask _me_ ? Seriously, anything, and I won’t… look, you’re still _you_ , right? You have all of his memories and you know what he wants. Just tell me. If there’s something you need from me, or something you need to know, just _tell_ me and when I get back I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen.”

The understanding, the _relief_ on his face is enough to let her know that she’s said the right thing, given him just what he needs in that moment. He hesitates, though. “Wouldn’t that be much the same, though? Keeping secrets?”

Emma shrugs. “Not if you tell me what I should say to you - or _do_ for you - when I get home. Besides, if anyone should make that decision it should be you.” She crawls up his body, just far enough to press a brief kiss to his lips. He relaxes under her and she takes it as a good sign, settling down with her head on his shoulder and her arm across his chest. “You’re _him_ , remember? I think he’d understand.” She smiles into his skin. “This is about you, Killian. Not me. Tell me what you need. Ask me whatever you want.”

He doesn’t answer but his hand flexes at her back while he considers her words. There’s a long pause, and for all that she’s bracing herself for, what comes out of him next is a surprise. “So… you found the ring?”

His body tenses right along with hers. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

The moment pulls them both taut and she holds her breath and waits for him to speak again. There are a hundred different ways this could go and -

“Did you like it?”

Her breath flies out on a startled laugh. “Sorry, that was the last thing I expected you to say.”

“Well,” he says, voice dripping with mirth, “you did tell me you would say yes, so that eliminates the vast majority of my questions on the matter.”

She grins into his shoulder. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Aye, so tell me. The ring. Did you like it?”

She can’t quite look at him, feeling suddenly shy, her hand tightening around his ribs. “It’s beautiful.” It’s easier to talk like this, wrapped up in one another but not having to maintain eye contact.

“Good.” The word is so quiet she hardly hears it. She breathes deep and waits for him, knows there are heavier questions he wants to ask. He doesn’t go there immediately, however, and even though she’s not looking at his face she knows he’s wearing a smile. “You’re going to marry me,” he says, a note of wonder and delight in his voice.

“Yeah,” she says, halfway between wanting to giggle and burst into tears. “I am.” Her arm pulls tighter around his waist. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll ask you first.”

His muscles tighten ever-so-slightly beneath her, much to Emma’s surprise. “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Please don’t misunderstand me. I’d be happy to marry you no matter who does the asking. It’s simply that…” he trails off and she waits, giving him time to find the right words. “I may have essentially dared you to do it, but you initiated our kiss in Neverland, and then again in Storybrooke. You were the first to ask for a date.”

Slowly it dawns on her, just where he’s going with this. She remains quiet and waits once more.

“You were the first to - to tell me you loved me.” His voice grows thick, clearly reliving the memory and she swallows down the lump in her own throat. “You asked me to move in with you. After everything - just this once, love, let me be the one to do the asking.”

She’d always known, always _loved_ that he let her lead in their relationship, that he knew when to hold back and when to push. But hearing it laid out like that causes something in her heart to clench and threaten to burst. It had never occurred to her how much he needed this, to be the one to take a big step and ask _her_ to follow rather than the other way around.

She lifts herself up then, just enough to look down into his eyes. His face is imploring but hesitant, as if he’s afraid she won’t take kindly to his request and she _hates_ it. She hates that they can share so much and love so deeply but still feel this way, hates that her own words and actions through their relationship have made him so tentative even after they’re confirmed True Love, even after a fucking _God_ sent him back to her from the brink of death.

“Of course,” she whispers, leaning down to press her lips to his, trying and failing to keep it soft. “Anything you want, Killian,” she tells him between kisses that grow increasingly frantic. “God, _anything_.”

His hand finds her hair and he deliberately slows his mouth against hers, breaking the kiss to whisper a “shhhh” against her lips. “It’s okay.”

He’s said those words to her before when things were decidedly _not_ okay, but something in the touch of his hand and his lips on her skin calms her. She knows that he understands, that she’s not just acquiescing to his request but knows _why_ he made it in the first place. She relaxes, gradually settling into him again and it’s like a weight lifted from the pair of them, the last fragile walls between them finally coming down, transparent as they already were. It’s cathartic and raw all at once, her nerves frayed and soothed at the same time. It’s awhile before he speaks again, but she’s glad to get back to the conversation.

“Are you surprised?” he asks, and she briefly thinks he’s asking about _her_ feelings before he clarifies. “That I want to ask you?”

She pauses before answering. “A little. I don’t mean I’m surprised that you want to spend your life with me, or anything like that. I just…”

“Just what?”

“I dunno, it’s just…” She struggles, trying to articulate it. “Marriage is so _traditional_ , you know?”

“...and I am a pirate,” he finishes, sounding amused. “We’re not the most traditional couple, I suppose.”

“Hey, I love the pirate,” she says, grinning into his shoulder. “I just didn’t know it was something you’d want.”

“Marriage was such an abstract idea to me,” he admits. “I’d thought of it when I was in the Royal Navy. Meeting some lass at a ball, falling in love, starting a family. Some sort of idealistic dream. I liked the idea, being able to have what was taken from me when I was a child.”

Emma stays quiet, listening intently. They’ve told each other so much, know nearly everything about each other’s pasts, but this is new territory. It’s wants and desires that go farther than their relationship in the here and now, no more vague talk of a future together but concrete plans. Her heart clenches at his words because she knows that longing, the intense need to build a family around her after so much of it was stolen from her in her formative years. It took her a long time to accept, to allow herself to want it, but once the possibility clawed its way into her heart she’s clung to it fiercely deep down, no matter how much her head tries to get in the way.

“My ideas changed when I met Milah,” he continues. “She was still married and we lived on a ship, and she already had a child. I knew that love didn’t have to be traditional, or look the way everyone else expected it to, but I - “ he sighs. “I still wished we could have had more. I wanted us to be officially recognized together. I wanted Bae with us and to make that work. Bloody hell, sometimes I even wished that we didn’t have to take pains to not have children of our own. It’s a terrible idea, to have children at sea.”

She’s tried to remain silent, to not react to his words, but she tenses as he continues to speak. She so badly wants to ask, knows that she promised she wouldn’t, but the question hangs in the air now that he’s brought it up.

“It’s all right, love,” he assures her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t know if - “ he pauses, as if searching for the right words. “Being with you, becoming a part of your family - it’s more than I could ask for. More than I deserve, frankly.”

“Stop that.” Her hand tightens against his ribs, the closest she can come to a rebuke. “Stop acting like you don’t deserve to be happy.”

“That’s another thing I love about you,” he murmurs. “You make me feel like I’m worth something.”

“You _are_ ,” she insists.

He ignores her, and she’d call him out on it if it weren’t for his next words. “I know what you want to ask, so I’ll just tell you. I’m not sure yet if I want to have children, love. But I’m not averse to considering it, as frightening as the idea might be.”

The seizing in her throat is only tempered by his tone because that’s _exactly_ it. She’d sworn she’d never have another child but she can’t throw away the idea now that she’s with Killian, that niggling in the back of her mind that they could make something beautiful together. It’s not a decision by any means, but there’s a small measure of relief in knowing he feels the same as she does.

“I’m not sure either,” she says. “But if… if we do decide we want that, I think you’d be a great Dad.”

His exhale is heavy, sending her hair skittering across her forehead. She waits for him to protest, to make some self-deprecating remark, but it never comes.

“Thank you,” he finally breathes out, the words heavy and burdened in his throat. “I think… I think that’s all the talking I can bear for tonight, love.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face in his shoulder. _God_. She should have known better than to do this, to encourage him - they’ve spent the last however many minutes talking about a future he wants but can never have.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her words muffled into his skin, clutching him as tightly as she possibly can. “I’m so sorry.”

His arms wrap around her and he turns them until they’re lying on their sides, legs tangled together. “Shh, Swan. None of that.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, oblivious to his words. “I should have just left the tavern. I shouldn’t have - “

His hand finds her hair, his wrist pressed to the small of her back. “Emma,” he says firmly. “Answer me just one more thing. Why _didn’t_ you leave the tavern? Why did you stay and make me remember?”

She has to steady her breath before answering, unable to look at him. “Because of how you looked. You were - “

His fingers slide beneath her chin, lifting her head and forcing her to look into his eyes. “- old?” he finishes, a faintly-amused twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“No,” she huffs, and she won’t let him make a joke out of this, not this time. “You were miserable. You couldn’t believe it when I acted like I cared about you. And I just couldn’t…”

His eyes soften. “Couldn’t what?”

“I couldn’t leave there without telling you about us. Even if I couldn’t get you to remember, I had to let you know someone loved you.”

His mouth does curve up then and he leans in close, his nose brushing hers. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to hear someone say it?” he murmurs, brushing his lips against hers. “It’d been so long. And even though I hadn’t believed your story to that point, once you said those words you _made_ me believe it.” His thumb catches the tear rolling down her cheek and he smiles once more. “You did the right thing by staying,” he assures her. “You’re right; I was bloody miserable. And even if we have to say goodbye at the end of this, it was worth it. Otherwise I’d have gone on without a useless life without ever knowing that I had this. That I had _you_.”

She closes her eyes against more tears but manages to hold them back, a hopeful bloom in her chest in spite of everything. “You’re a smooth talker, you know that?” she asks, opening her eyes to a knowing grin.

“‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’”

“Oh God, now you’re quoting Shakespeare at me?”

His eyebrow shoots up. “Tennyson, actually.”

He laughs when she smacks his arm. “Show-off.”

“Keats has some lovely passages as well. Perhaps I could recite a few?”

She finds herself laughing along with him, shoving him onto his back and straddling his hips. “Oh yeah? Woo me, you well-read smartass.”

He grins up at her, but his expression falters a moment before he speaks. “‘Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.’”

The breath flies out of her momentarily, but she tries to recover. “Is that your way of saying you want that blowjob now?”

He laughs again, seemingly grateful that she’s kept it light, hand and wrist skimming over her hips. “I just want you.”

Emma can’t _not_ kiss him then, leaning down to capture his mouth and enjoying the way he sighs into it, the rise and fall of his chest lifting and lowering her into the motion of his lips. She lets him lead, tilting her head when he gently guides her with his fingers at her jaw, opening when he opens, returning the slow strokes of his tongue. He tastes the same as he always does in this realm or any other, warm and sweet and tinged with rum.

She begins to shift her hips with the rhythm of it, the most sensitive parts of her rubbing against his lower abdomen in the most delicious way. There’s no urgency in it, just a pleasurable roll of her flesh against his and it’s intoxicating, the way they move together so easily, just as in sync after a quarter-century apart as if it were a day. She hums against his lips while his hand tightens at her back, urging her on as the pressure builds inside her and concentrates between her thighs.

It’s a dim thought that cuts through the fog in her head, the realization that he’s not growing hard beneath her that gives her pause. She breaks from his lips and breathes against his mouth, a barely-audible “You good?” escaping from her.

“Aye, love,” he assures her, rolling his hips up to pull another soft noise from her while he chuckles against her mouth. “Forgive these old bones; I need a bit more time to recover than you’re used to.”

“Oh, fuck that,” she murmurs, sitting up and tossing the covers away from her shoulders. “You want me?” she teases, sliding down until she’s settled comfortably between his legs. “You’re gonna get me. Now lie back and relax.” His face grows amused when she fights to pull off her stockings, tossing them unceremoniously to the floor. “Shut up,” she admonishes, even though he hasn’t said a word. “I know you like those things, but they’re itchy as hell.”

She can tell he’s fighting back a laugh, but he keeps his composure. “I will _never_ object to you being naked in my bed, Swan.”

“Good.” He’s still soft when she takes him in hand but his breath catches at her light touch, bleeding into a long exhale as her fingers trace a slow path up and down his length. “Do you like that?” she asks, letting her breath swarm over his skin.

“Aye,” he gets out, his voice an octave higher than normal. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop what?” She grins, sliding her hand up and down. “Don’t stop this?” she asks, swirling her thumb over the tip and feeling him twitch beneath her hand.

His back arches at her touch. “Bloody _fuck_.”

She takes that as enough of an answer and leans down, tracing her nose up the length of him as he slowly hardens, briefly taking the tip into her mouth before pulling off with a wet, obscene noise. “Just like that?”

“Emma,” he begs, burying his hand in her hair.

“Oh, you like that?” She grins, and it’s too fun, too easy to tease him like this. “How about this?” She takes him fully in her mouth then, only able because he’s not completely hard but it’s impossibly erotic to do this to him, to swallow him whole and pull with her mouth from base to tip, pinning his hips to the bed with her hands and feeling him grow more and more aroused beneath her touch.

She takes the base of him in hand and sucks at the tip, long, filthy strokes with her tongue while he breaks beneath her, delicious sounds dragged deep from this throat.

His hand tightens in her hair, his voice pulled taut. “Stop, love. Not like this.”

Her desire to make him come with her mouth wars with the ache between her thighs, but she won’t deny him anything tonight. “Okay,” she says, lifting up to straddle him once more, taking him in hand as she settles on top of him. They both sigh heavily when she sinks down, the feel of him inside her hot and heavy and _perfect_ while she settles down and spreads her thighs, letting him take all of her weight.

Time suspends itself as she looks down, his eyes briefly fluttering closed at the feel of her before he looks up, hand settling at her hip while they both take it all in, his face overwhelmed as he looks her over. They breathe together for a few endless moments, enjoying the sensation and sharing a gentle smile before the emotions can grow too heavy between them.

“Don’t move, love” he whispers, and she’s briefly confused until his hand slips between them, his thumb working at her clit while she sits on top of him, _around_ him and it’s too much, to watch his face and feel what he’s making her feel, leisurely waves that crawl up her spine before rolling back to settle into the heat between her legs.

“ _Fuck_ , Killian,” she breathes, falling forward and planting her hands on either side of his head.

“That’s it, darling,” he urges. “Make yourself come for me.”

She begins rolling her hips, not lifting up and letting him thrust into her but seeking her own release instead, rough passes of skin against skin while he continues to work at her, not even caring when their bodies get in the way and working against her clit whenever he can reach, pushing her forward until she tenses and pulls tight, her movements stilling while she flies apart around him, a burst of pleasure that unravels her at the seams only to slowly stitch her back together as she falls against his chest. She sighs once the tensing of her muscles subsides, the memory of how he moaned against her as she came fading into a hazy softness that drifts in and out as his fingers flit across her back.

“Good?” he asks, and she can’t help but giggle at the slight mocking in his tone.

“So good,” she agrees. It only gets better when he begins rocking his hips into hers, a delicious slick drag inside her. She raises up on her elbows and kisses him as they rock together, an easy dance between them while she lets him take what he needs and helps him along with every sway of her hips.

She pulls back from his mouth when she feels him getting close, watching his face as his thrusts grow more intense. But his expression is almost placid as he comes, eyes falling closed in rapture. The closeness of it all tugs at her heart, his arms around her and her chest pressed to his as he lets go, more vulnerable than she’s ever seen him and such a stark contrast to the closed-off version of him she met earlier in the evening. She kisses him long and deep while he recovers, the motion of his lips unsteady at first but growing softer and more tender as he comes back to himself.

He smiles when they finally break away, sated and sweet and achingly private, an expression she’s only ever seen when he’s alone with her. “You’re bloody brilliant.”

She chuckles against him. “Yeah, I’ve heard that a few times.”

“Oh? People make a habit of telling you?”

“Nah,” she says, kissing him once more. “Just you.” They groan in tandem when she slides off him, but he gives an appreciative little hum when she cleans them up with an irritated wave of her hand and a soft glow of magic. She settles into his side once more, his arm sliding around her shoulders and pulling her in close.

“What time is it?” she murmurs, snuggling into his chest.

“Late,” he says, sounding a little drowsy himself.

“I’m thinking this whole staying-up-all-night thing wasn’t the best plan,” she muses, and he laughs when her jaw nearly pops on a large yawn.

“I merely wanted to spend the night with you,” he says, his palm settling on her shoulders. “I think that could involve sleep as well.”

“Mmm, you sure?” she asks, nosing into his chest.

“Of course.” She feels his lips touch the crown of her head. “Sleep, Swan. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

“Sweet dreams,” she mutters, finally allowing herself to close her eyes.

“With you? Always.”

She wants to tell him she feels the same, but his voice is already a million miles away as slumber begins to overtake her.

* * *

Emma is aware of sunlight on her face before she’s fully awake, warmth coming through the castle windows and birds chirping just outside. That’s not what slowly pulls her back to consciousness, though, a soft touch against her forehead anchoring her and pulling her into wakefulness.

When she finally opens her eyes Killian is the first thing she sees, an affectionate smile on his face as his hand combs through her hair. “Morning, love.” Even his voice is soft, just like his fingers against her skin. She stretches where she lies, yawning as she blinks against the light and shakes out the cobwebs.

“Were you watching me sleep?” she asks, her voice thick with disuse.

“Not for long,” he admits.

“That’d be so creepy if I didn’t love you,” she mumbles into her pillow, and his answering laugh is light. She looks up again and finally registers that he’s fully dressed where he lies beside her. “You’ve been up,” she says, still feeling sleepy and stupid.

He nods. “Aye. I woke early and went to speak with Regina.”

“Did you yell at her, too?”

His smile is wry. “I didn’t need to. We spoke about how to get the two of you back home.” That more than anything jolts Emma awake, the reminder that their situation is temporary, that she’ll have to say goodbye to him again. “That, and I figured she owed me a favor,” he adds with a nonchalant shrug.

“A favor?”

“Nothing important, I promise. I’ll tell you later.”

She sits up then, rubbing at her eyes. “So, um. Did you figure anything out?”

“We didn’t, no, but once I came back to you something occurred to me.”

“What’s that?”

“Well,” he explains, “your original plan involved using a magic bean, yes?”

“Yeah, but that’s gone now. I thought you said you didn’t know where to get another one?”

“That was before my memories came back.” He actually looks _nervous_ , fidgeting with the comforter and looking down before continuing. “But I thought - if you need a magic bean, then what better place to find one than a beanstalk?”

*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! Thanks for reading.

Killian takes her to the beanstalk on horseback. Emma is grateful for the few hours it takes them, an excuse to shamelessly wrap herself around him as she sits in the back of the saddle. Her hands start off holding his hips before eventually clasping themselves across his front, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

They won't have much longer if their mission is successful, the threat of the Evil Queen loose in Storybrooke more than enough to hurry them along. But when her hand reaches up and closes over his where he holds the reins she closes her eyes, squeezing him tight against her. It's all they have left - all _he_ has left - and she won't spend a single moment without her hands on his skin if she can help it. They don't talk, don't need to, and Emma is grateful that she can't see Killian's face as they ride, knowing she couldn't handle it.

It looks much the same as it did before, towering up into the sky and forcing them to lean back to take all of it in. "Do you think this thing is still enchanted by the giant?" she asks, squinting her eyes against the sun. "I don't have any memories of his story being different in this version of things."

"Nor do I," he confirms, still looking up. "I suppose there's only one way to find out." Before she can protest, he approaches the beanstalk and places a tentative hand against it.

The force of its magic throws him a good ten feet before he lands on his back.

She's at his side in an instant. "Well," he gets out when his breath returns to him, "that answers that question."

Emma laughs, relieved that he's only injured his pride. "You are such a dumbass, you know that?"

He grins up at her. "And you love me for it."

She smiles back, grasping his hand and helping him to his feet. "Knock it off with this whole throwing-yourself-in-the-line-of-fire thing. I don't need you to break a hip."

"I'm quite spry, thank you. Or was last night not proof enough for you?"

She can feel her cheeks flush at the memory, burning even hotter when he raises a cocky eyebrow. "Look, we don't need to climb. I can just poof us up to the top." She reaches into their satchel, pulling out the royal scroll she prepared before they left and holding it up between them. "You ready?"

"Aye." He nods to the parchment in her hands. "Do you think this will work?"

"It has to. If it doesn't I'll freeze him with magic and just take the bean he has, but I…" she trails off. "I don't want it to come to that. He deserves more."

He sighs, but keeps his expression light. "We all do."

"Yeah," she says, her voice catching in her throat. "You do."

He holds her hand as she transports them to the top.

* * *

The giant is so startled by her sudden appearance - whether it's because a princess has deigned to visit him or because he's shocked at her display of magic - that he nearly forgets to be angry. Emma summons every memory of her childhood in this place, every lesson in deportment and diplomacy drilled into her from a young age when she announces herself and hands him the scroll. She made it as large as possible but it's still comically tiny in his hands, but the way his face changes as he reads it calms her rapidly beating heart.

As it turns out, Anton's soft heart is surprisingly receptive to a formal royal apology for the treatment of giants at the hands of humans. It doesn't hurt that the purveyors of the message are two orphans thoroughly in sympathy with his predicament. It takes some convincing - he's not stupid, after all - but when they finally get through to him it's a weight lifted, Killian's joyous smile and Anton's tears only adding to the occasion.

When he offers the damaged bean hanging around his neck, it's all Emma can do not to cry.

* * *

Lake Nostros is vibrant and beautiful, so unlike the dried-up landscape Emma remembers from her last experience there. She pulls the bean from around her neck, looking from Killian to the water and then back again, and the finality of it all settles heavy on her shoulders.

She glances to Regina and Robin. "Can you give us a minute?"

"Of course." Regina grabs at Robin's arm and pulls him away, giving them the privacy they need. Regina's been uncharacteristically contrite since their last conversation, and while it's not quite a real apology, it's a start.

He sidles up to her and she sighs when his forehead touches hers, his hand soft at her hip. "So," he says, waiting quietly.

"So." She swallows hard, stepping closer into his space, hands pressed to his chest.

"Remember the last time we were here?" he asks, and she smiles at the memory, at how far they've come. "I think I prefer holding you to fighting you with a sword."

"You _liked_ the sword fight."

"That I did," he chuckles. "Despite what I said, your form was terrible."

"Give me a break. That was like the second time I ever held a sword, okay?"

"And you've gotten much better since then," he says fondly, nose just touching hers.

"Yeah, well, I had a good teacher."

"Aye," he whispers, just before pressing his lips to hers. His kiss is soft and light, just a whisper against her skin and her heart aches at the sweetness of it. His eyes remain closed when he pulls back and only then can she see how nervous he is, the tension in his shoulders and the shallowness of his breath. Death is terrifying enough but this, the knowledge that everything about him will cease to exist in a few minutes is something else entirely.

Her hands find his face, her thumbs rubbing gently at his cheeks, and his eyes are damp when they finally open. A pained smile crosses his face. "I'm getting quite tired of saying goodbye to you, love."

She sighs, bitter around the edges. "So am I. I just… I love you. So much. And I'm so sorry. I don't know what else I can say, I just - "

"Shhh." He shakes his head and leans in to whisper in her ear. "You don't need to say anything. Just be here with me for a moment."

His arms circle around her and she follows suit, sinking into the warmth and the strength of him as they sway together. She won't let herself cry, determined to be strong for him, but still buries her face in his shoulder and breathes him in while he does the same. It's not enough, nothing will ever be enough for Emma when it comes to Killian, but she holds him and waits, letting him decide when he's able to let go.

It's far too soon when his grip loosens and they pull regretfully apart. "You'd best be getting home now."

"Yeah," she says, a little shaky. "Just let me do one thing first." He eyes her curiously when she grabs his left wrist, looking down at the false hand he still wears. She takes a deep breath and pulls from within her, summoning the warm glow of her magic and bringing it forth in a burst of light. She watches his face as he examines her handiwork, and his grateful smile when he realizes she's returned his hook to its rightful place threatens to break her where she stands.

"There we go," she manages to get out, and his smile softens in understanding.

The fingers of one hand lace with his and she takes his hook in the other as he steps in close. "Thank you, love. For everything." That he's able to pack so much into so few words astonishes her.

She can only nod and he kisses her once more, long and deep and she can feel the thanks in it, the love in it, and she does her best to give it back to him.

"I love you," he whispers against her lips. "Safe travels, Emma."

"I love you too," she chokes out as he backs away. She holds his hand as long as possible, the tips of their fingers sliding across each other's as they finally break apart. She turns, knowing she won't be able to go through with this if she looks at his face, and makes her way to the edge of the water.

She's joined in short order by Robin and Regina. "You ready?" Regina asks.

"As I'll ever be. Let's do it."

Emma removes the bean from around her neck and hands it off, happy to give this task to Regina while she braces herself. The waters restore the bean easily, but she's not ready for the gust of cool air as the portal opens, her chest tightening while Regina and Robin jump through.

She can't help herself - she turns and looks back, needing to see him one more time. He's moved back to the treeline but she can still make out his features - the tiny, loaded smile he gives her and the encouraging nod to follow.

She nods back, turns, and jumps.

* * *

Killian guides Emma through the front door of their home, Henry close on their heels. Killian nearly carries her, taking most of her weight with her arm slung over his shoulder as her feet drag across the hardwood. She wants to protest, tell him she's not an invalid, but her legs are hardly obeying her wishes as it is, much less her mouth. He deposits her on the couch and kneels before her to look directly in her eyes, grabbing her hand in his.

"You're shaking."

"I'll get you some hot chocolate," Henry volunteers immediately, completely misreading the situation, but she simply nods as he disappears to the kitchen.

"I'm not cold," she finally says, low enough that her son can't hear.

"It's all right, love," Killian assures her, just as quiet. He smiles then, squeezing her hand. "I told you you can overcome anything."

She stares at him blankly until she realizes he's not talking about her time in the wish realm. She feels slow and stupid, hardly able to organize her thoughts, not after arriving in Storybrooke only to walk straight into the swordfight that haunted her dreams for so many weeks.

She may not have vanquished her cloaked foe, only able to send him running with a blast of magic that took everything in her power to summon. It nearly failed, an aborted, hopeless attempt until Killian and Henry arrived and she somehow found the strength to bring it forth.

The burst of energy didn't last, the weight of the last few days and the preceding weeks lifting and crumbling in on her at the same time. She'd collapsed on the street, damn near had a panic attack and it was only the arms of the men she loved around her that kept her together, soothing and real and coaching her to breathe her way through it.

She can't even remember how they got her back home, struggling to recall but only coming up with a frenzied blur, and it's Killian's voice that snaps her back to reality.

"Emma."

Her eyes meet his, wide and full of concern, and it's the first time she's really _looked_ at him since arriving home. It startles her, to see him young and vibrant and full of life in a way his other self hadn't been, no more of the silver-streaked hair and wrinkles she'd done her best to memorize. But as much as she sees the Killian she knows and love she also sees _him_ , and her heart jumps and breaks all at once behind the numbing fog of shock.

Henry returns just then, breaking the moment and she forces a smile, strange as it feels on her face. "Thanks."

"Are you okay, Mom?"

She pauses before answering, and she can't bear to lie to him. "I will be. It's, uh. It's been a rough few days. I'll tell you about it later, okay? I think I just need to go to bed."

Henry nods, obviously worried but taking her at her word, and Emma is grateful when Killian takes the mug of hot chocolate from him, knowing her shaking hands wouldn't be able to carry it. "I'll let Grandma and Grandpa know you're back."

It's another piece falling into place, knowing she'll be able to see her parents once more, young and _alive_ and it almost cracks through the numbness when she pulls Henry into a hug. "Thanks, kid."

Killian brings her upstairs, his hook pressing lightly at the small of her back as he patiently follows her wobbly steps. She pauses once they're in the bedroom, glancing towards the bath. "I think I need a shower."

"Of course," he says, his voice soft as he sets the mug aside. "Take all the time you need."

The thought of being alone, being without him for even a moment shocks her into reality even more, and she grabs his wrist when he reaches to hand her a towel. "Come with me?"

He laces his fingers with hers in response. "Anything."

He turns the water scalding hot and undresses her with deliberate care, as though she were some delicate, breakable thing. She feels that way now, fragile and raw down to the tips of her toes as he divests himself of his own clothing and leads her into the shower.

Perhaps it's the heat of the water that finally brings her into the present. Maybe it's the look on his face as he runs his fingers through her hair, or the last of the adrenaline leaving her body, but once they're thoroughly soaked and he asks her, nearly inaudible, "Are you all right?" she breaks.

His arms go around her as she buries her face in his chest and sobs. There's so much for her to get out, so much fear and tension to process and it all unfurls at once, the anguish of the last few days and the realization that no, she will _not_ die as fated squeezing her heart until it bursts, a relentless torrent that pours out of her until she feels no more than a shell of herself in his embrace.

He brings her back slowly as it subsides, a gentle hand at her back and whispered nonsense in her ear, _I've got you_ and _safe_ and _love_ still coming through and it gives her the strength to remain standing. He waits, patient as always, and when she finally stops shuddering he acts as though nothing has happened, working shampoo into her hair with calming fingers and gently washing every inch of her skin.

It's only when they're finished, only when he's turned off the water and drying her carefully with a fluffy towel that she realizes how grateful she is, how lucky she is to be taken care of and she doesn't have the words to express it, hoping that her quiet "I love you" is enough.

He pauses at her words, dropping the towel to take her face in hand as he leans in, his lips just a caress against hers. "And I you."

When they're finally in bed they don't talk, laying on their sides to face one another and his hand is sweet against her cheek, thumb gently grazing her skin.

"Do you want to sleep?" he asks.

"I don't think I could," she admits.

He hesitates, and then: "Do you want to talk?"

When she can't answer right away, he continues. "I know this isn't just about your swordfight and the prophecy. You don't have to tell me now, but will you? I don't know what happened in that other realm, but…"

"No," she confirms. "You're right, it's not that. It was… God, I don't even know where to start."

He's reluctant before he speaks, but when he does it's just the push she needs. "Do you want to try?"

Her story is painfully disjointed, awkward and inelegant and she keeps having to backtrack, filling in details she'd forgotten, but by the time she gets to her goodbye at Lake Nostros, Killian scoots in closer, his legs tangling with hers as she whispers the details.

When she finishes there's not much to say - his sympathetic "Oh, _love_ " sets off tears for the both of them - but it's enough to unburden herself, to tell her story to the only person who can come close to fully understanding. They hold each other tightly as they fall asleep, broken but slowly mending.

* * *

It's just past lunchtime when Emma returns home the next day. Her breakfast with her parents runs shorter than expected (they welcomed her with several too-long-but-not-enough hugs, but shooed her out as soon as humanly possible and insisted she go home to rest), but her meandering walk afterward takes longer. She thought it might help, to work through her jumbled thoughts, maybe cry a little for the man she left behind. Neither happens.

Her mind remains as scrambled as ever, living through those few days with Killian again and again, sometimes in fleeting moments and others in achingly perfect detail. His eyes, how over the years the blue of them had grown a shade lighter than she remembered. The way he smiled as though he hadn't done so in years. The feeling of his hand on her skin, more careful and cherishing than she was used to. Her eyes remain dry as she relives the memories, the catharsis of the night before leaving her emotions too depleted to allow much of a reaction.

She sees him as soon as she's through the front door, seated on the couch and his gaze trained on something in his lap she can't see. He doesn't look up at the sound of her entrance, and something in the set of his shoulders alarms her.

"Killian?" she asks, afraid to approach, the oddest feeling that she's interrupting something important.

It takes a beat before he turns his head to acknowledge her. "Hello, love."

The look on his face unnerves her immediately. He doesn't even attempt to muster a smile, but beyond that his eyes are red. His cheeks aren't wet - if he's cried over anything it hasn't been in the last few minutes - but there's no mistaking the set of his features.

"What's wrong?" she whispers, stiffening where she stands.

He does smile then, just a bit, and the knot in her stomach loosens fractionally. "I'm all right," he assures her, tilting his head in invitation. "Come here. I've got something to show you."

When she sits next to him she sees it's a piece of parchment, neatly folded and, despite being old-fashioned, not withered with age. He turns it over and over in his hands, restless but careful with the letter, and Emma sees a similar-looking envelope on the coffee table in front of them, "Killian" scrawled across it with his familiar handwriting.

"Regina dropped this off earlier," he tells her. "She said he'd asked her for a favor."

Emma swallows, her eyes trained on the folded paper. "He mentioned a favor to me, but never told me what it was about."

"And this was it," he confirms, holding out the letter to her. "Would you like to read it?"

Her eyes fall to the parchment before meeting his. "Do you want me to?"

There's a pause before he answers, but when the smile spreads slowly across his face she knows she's asked the right question. "Yes."

Her hands faintly shake as she takes it from him, delicately unfolding the paper and feeling her breath catch as she first sees it - the writing is the same beautiful penmanship she knows, almost. It's a little bit shakier, slightly sloppier, but still a work of art unto itself. She feels Killian's hand at her back as she begins to read.

_Killian,_

_It's quite strange to write a letter to myself. I assume Emma has told you about me; if she hasn't done so yet, please don't hold it against her. It's obvious how taxing this experience has been for her - I'm certain you see it as well - and if she hasn't yet gone into detail about her trip to this realm I know she will soon. Give her time if she needs it._

She squeezes her eyes shut, suddenly realizing what he'd done before she woke after their morning together. Despite all his pain he'd thought of her own first, and it's not the first time his selflessness has brought tears to her eyes. She swipes angrily at her face as Killian leans into her side, his hand a comforting slide against her ribs. "I'm here," he whispers, his breath warm on her shoulder. "Keep reading."

_It's also strange to write to you when Emma was so insistent that we're the same person. She's partially correct; we both share identical memories up to a point. I know everything you know. But I also have another generation of experiences within me: returning to the Enchanted Forest with a toothless Dark One and no curse, no scheming with Cora to guide me. I'm older than you by a few decades (still handsome, lest you worry about that) and so at least the smallest bit wiser. Given that, I hope you'll take to heart what I have to say._

_I don't need to tell you what a gift it is to be loved by Emma Swan. But I do know how you think, and the way your head can sometimes poison what you know in your heart to be true. So I'd like to tell you a story._

Emma can't stop her laugh, short and breathless as it is. "This sounds familiar."

His nose is still pressed to her ear and she feels him smile against her skin, his hand tightening around her waist. "Classics never die, Swan. Keep reading."

She does, her heart firmly in her throat.

_I was a useless old pirate. Not even that, an ex-pirate who hadn't had a ship or a crew in decades. I had no home, never staying in one place too long, far too much of my time spent at the bottom of a bottle because I had nothing else. I spent years that way, because once my vengeance was taken from me there was nothing left to do but grow old and wait to die. I didn't even have the courage to end it myself, choosing the passive way out, as it were. We always did have a talent for self-destruction._

_But then a princess marched into a tavern and sat directly across from me. She needed a favor and I refused, thinking I had no way to assist her and wanting to get back to my bottle. She could have left then, finding another way home (and we both know she would have) and leaving me in the dark with the demons we both know so well._

_But she saw me and the state I was in, and she stayed. I wish you could have seen her, how kind and determined she was, desperate to make me believe I was more than the failure I'd become. She reassured me, held my hand, and chased me down when I fled. Finally, she told me she loved me. I suppose I'm luckier than you in that regard; I was privileged with hearing Emma say "I love you" for the first time on two separate occasions._

_She made me believe and I remembered. I don't need to tell you it was the best thing that ever happened to me, because Emma is the best thing that ever happened to either of us. She didn't have to do it; she could have left me in the dark and gone home to you and I'd be none the wiser. I'd have disappeared into the ether when she left, some tragic footnote that didn't warrant any further attention._

_But she refused to let that happen. Even though I was just a temporary copy of you, she wasn't able to leave me like that, and as poor as my own opinion of myself is, she refused to let me wallow in it. We know the generosity of Emma's grace better than anyone._

_Despite all that, I know it's not enough for you. You know what you have is True Love but you still doubt yourself. You still worry that you feel more deeply for her than she does for you. You still worry that you're not worthy of her. I know you, mate. I AM you. And so I hope you'll take the advice of a (slightly) older version of you: never, ever doubt the love of Emma Swan. It runs as true and as deep as yours for her, if not more so. Cherish every moment of it. Hold her every chance you get, make love to her every time as if it's your last, and believe her when she tells you she loves you. Trust her in this as you do everything else._

_You're going to show this letter to her, aren't you? I know us. In that case, Emma, hello, darling. I love you until the end of the world, or time, just like the man right next to you. Be good to each other._

_Kindest regards,_

_Killian Jones_

Her breath catches at the final paragraph and Killian is there for it, the warmth of his hand at her waist and his breath on her skin grounding her as she swallows down her tears. "He's pretty great, isn't he?" she finally gets out, hoping he can read between the lines.

"Aye," he agrees, his lips gentle against her cheek.

"He's right," she says, still unable to look at him. "About how much I love you."

His breath stops against her skin, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm against her ribs. "I'm glad to hear it," he murmurs.

They sit quietly for a few minutes, Emma's head on his shoulder, savoring the luxury of silence. It only breaks when Killian chuckles to himself, a low, sweet sound that rumbles in his chest.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, love. Just thinking that he's right about you, too."

* * *

Things slow down somewhat a few days after Emma returns. The Evil Queen remains in her cage and Gideon is nowhere to be seen, giving them what is most certainly a false sense of security, but it's enough for her to return to work and pretend. And she's definitely pretending now, playing Minesweeper on her computer and truly learning the concept of "Hurry up and wait."

The buzz of her phone distracts her, causing her to set off a mine and she curses as she goes to check her messages, but the words die on her lips as she reads it.

It's a video file, sent to her by Regina. The accompanying text is simple but sets her heart racing as she reads it: _Watch this alone, and only when you've got some extra time._

Emma looks up immediately, glancing around the quiet station. Her father is out on a routine call but there's otherwise nothing to do, and so she gets up and locks her office door before sitting, taking a deep breath, and hitting "play."

She nearly drops her phone at the sight of his face once the video starts, lined and creased and just as beautiful as she remembers it, the face she never thought she'd see again staring back at her.

"Hello, love." His expression is sweet, a little melancholy, and she recognizes the castle walls behind him and the clothes he's wearing - he recorded this before she awakened after their night together. There was far more to his favor, it turns out, than a simple letter.

"I convinced Regina to let me use her talking phone before the battery died," he confirms. "I considered writing a letter to you as well, but I thought you might prefer a message from this devilishly handsome face instead."

Emma laughs through her tears, swiping at her face as he goes on.

"I assume by now you've read the letter I wrote to myself. And rest assured, I meant every word of it. But I wanted to speak directly to you."

"I love you," he says, somehow deadly serious but joyful at the same time. "More than anything in this wretched life. I always wanted to be a better man but you were the catalyst, the spark that made it happen. And as unfair as our current plight is - " his voice catches and he looks down, away from the camera, " - please, Emma, just know that you've made me a better man twice over."

It takes him a moment to find his voice again and she swallows heavily, wiping away her tears while she waits for him to recover.

"You asked me what I needed from you. It's not much, darling, and nothing more than you're prepared to give." He looks directly into the camera and smiles. "Tell me - tell _him_ \- tell him you love him every opportunity you have. Be there for him as he will be for you. And you already told me you would, but say yes when he asks you to marry him. He's quite nervous about it." His soft smile spreads into a grin. "And I know I asked you to acquire a pair of stockings once you returned home, but I was hoping that perhaps we could keep that just between us."

Emma laughs again and she can't deny him anything, a small part of her rejoicing at the idea. How perfect, how utterly _perfect_ of him to suggest -

"I have to go now, love," he tells the screen, an amused smile playing at his lips. "It's time to wake you up for yet another adventure, one that I'm sure will end with you as the victor."

His face grows serious once more and she braces herself, knowing what's to come.

"I love you. Did I already tell you that? Well, allow me to say it again: I love you. And even if I only have ten or twelve or sixteen hours with you in this life, all of it was was bloody worth it. Love always is." His smile returns. "Go live, and love, for me. We both know I'll see you again someday."

Emma can't watch the final seconds of the video, her eyes screwing shut as he says goodbye.

* * *

 

He asks her on a lazy Sunday morning, when they're both sleep-drunk and fuzzy and just waking as the sun streams through the curtains, their limbs tangled sweetly together.

She says yes.


End file.
